


Hunting

by WishUponADragon



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Kinda fluff?, Spy Nonsense, very little Alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishUponADragon/pseuds/WishUponADragon
Summary: "...on two of those occasions, he was using you to secure his cover identity."The first time that Yassen Gregorovich met Alex Rider.Based on TheInverseUniverse's Witness (which you should read first)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Hunting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Witness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750481) by [TheInverseUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInverseUniverse/pseuds/TheInverseUniverse). 



There were many climates and ecosystems Yassen was well versed in tracking people through. His skill, unfortunately, did not translate to enjoyment, and the muggy heat of the North American forest was not making this job any easier. He wiped a line of sweat from his brow and looked carefully at the prints in the slightly soft earth. Ian’s were almost obscured by the subsequent heavy steps of the men that had chased him, but they were present enough for Yassen to identify. The fact that he knew what type of shoe Ian had been wearing helped. 

He was slowed by the need to check well along the pathway for a place where the spy might have dropped the computer chip. It was a small thing, and very easy to overlook. Yassen briefly cursed the disuse of the floppy disk. That would have been much harder for Rider to hide. 

They’d searched the room he rented at the hunting lodge first, and finding that clear of any classified-information-containing computer chip extended the search to the rest of the lodge. Their cover as pest control was accepted readily enough, the owner going so far as to point out places she thought they might find termite activity. They found termites, but no chip. 

So now Yassen was here, combing the forest for a tiny sliver of green and silver. If the thing wasn’t corrupted by the time he found it, it would be a miracle, but, that would probably please the client just as well. Destroying the evidence was almost as good as having it returned. 

He hadn’t trusted the mindless muscle wrapped henchmen the client had sent him with to do the delicate work of looking through the forest for it and their discarded bullet shells- at least the ones that wouldn’t be mistaken for those of a normal sporthunter- so he directed them to remain at the campsite with the spy. If they could manage to get out of him where along the path he’d dropped it while Yassen was out here, all the better. 

But there was another reason Yassen insisted on doing the clean-up himself, alone. Ian’s room at the lodge contained two suitcases, his and a much smaller, more colorful one. The owner of the lodge had removed two plates from the dining table when Ian failed to show up for dinner. And Yassen could see the faint impression of footprints left by a very light person with a short stride, who had obviously been struggling to keep pace with Ian. But his men had only brought him the spy. They’d mentioned him moving strangely when they first sighted him, but none of them reported seeing a child while they had chased him through the forest. The low light and general haze of the forest was probably to blame. None of them dared to hazard a guess as to where the child might have been if not with Ian.

Yassen attributed it to whatever bizarre constellation of luck guided him and went out looking, not only for the missing chip, but for the missing child as well. Knowing Ian, he would have left them in the same place, the safest spot he could find.

It was harder to track the child’s footprints even in the bright midmorning light, as they almost disappeared entirely in drier places. They would reappear near Ian’s, sometimes with skid marks where the little one had slipped. Constantly catching the child would account for the odd movement patterns his men reported, and now, seeing the height of the undergrowth in this area, he understood why they had missed spotting an entire other person. The child couldn’t have been taller than his thigh and would have been well hidden no matter where he stood. It didn’t excuse it, and Yassen was more eager than ever to end this job and work with intelligent people again, but he was glad for the explanation. 

The child’s footprints suddenly stopped, ending in a gouge that pointed into a small ravine. It was four meters deep, a survivable fall, but still quite a drop for a child. Yassen looked to Ian’s prints running parallel with the child’s. They were temporarily deeper on the side further from the ravine. 

Pushing a child down a cliff to hide him from pursuers was the kind of cold and tactical choice he expected from the man. He wondered if the boy had been expecting it.

Yassen picked his way down the side of the ravine, noting the recent disturbances in the mud on the cliff and the torn and broken flora that marked the child’s path. The tiny finger shaped impressions in the wall had been a vain attempt to slow himself. Yassen was almost impressed he’d had the presence of mind to do that much.

The boy was not at the base of the ravine. He was easier to track though, discolored patches of mud and moss pointed Yassen in the direction he’d moved. It wasn’t much blood, he would likely be alive still. From the handprints mixed in, he must have stumbled or crawled. 

No. Just one kind of handprint. The child was favoring his left, only ever catching himself with his right. He wouldn’t have gone far, people do not move much when they are in pain. Especially not children.

The large root with hollowed out space underneath probably seemed like the perfect hiding space to the boy. Yassen crouched outside it and wondered if he’d noticed the signs of a fox digging into the place. Probably not. They were old tracks, and it was a wonder the rainfall hadn’t erased them entirely. 

Yassen had only met Helen Rider once, five years earlier. She was beautiful, and innocent, and Yassen felt a twinge of regret for her and her son. It wasn’t their fault John had been the man he was. 

She’d been in the second trimester then, and had been thrilled to meet someone from John’s work. She’d confided some of her worries, he’s just so secretive, you know? I’d wondered if he was making things up about how demanding his job was just to get out of the house! And Yassen had assured her that no, John had never lied to her about the work he did. 

Maybe he should have told her. Maybe she would have had a chance that way. But he hadn’t, he’d only sat and talked and there was nothing he could do about that now.

She’d told him a name. It wasn’t decided, but she’d been thinking a lot and was sure John would agree. 

“Alexander?”

There was movement under the tree root as the boy shifted around to look out. Yassen had the feeling he’d woken him up. He waited patiently.

“I- I hid, like you said. Am I in trouble?” His voice was scratchy, it must have been a while since he’d had something to drink. Yassen stayed still. 

He mistook him for Ian Rider, and assumed he was in trouble. Why? 

The boy probably wasn’t thinking clearly, he’d been abandoned in the forest for nearly half a day, and wouldn’t have been expecting anyone other than Ian. He bore a slight resemblance to the Riders, one that John had leveraged on their missions to pass them off as family, but Yassen didn’t expect the misconception to last long. 

But why had he thought Ian would be angry? Their brief interaction so far consisted of nothing other than- his name. That would be it then. Ian didn’t call him that. Yassen tried again.

“Come here, Alex.”

The boy obeyed, favoring his left hand as he crawled out from the little hiding place. The wrist was swollen, probably broken, though that was only a guess without an x-ray. There was a cut above his eye that left it almost sealed shut with dried blood. His hunting clothes were ripped and torn and scratches littered every bit of his skin. There was a locket around his neck. 

Yassen reached out and clicked it open. The chip fell neatly into his hand. Behind it, two familiar faces looked back at him. Yassen clicked the locket closed and put the computer chip in a hidden section of his jacket. It felt like Ian was specifically out to torment him, but that was ridiculous. The pictures were meant for Alex, not him.

Alex’s brown irises were barely visible around his dilated pupils. Concussion, probably. He shouldn’t have been left alone this long, and certainly not outside. He blinked slowly at Yassen. “You aren’t Ian.”

“No,” Yassen answered, standing up. He looked down at Alex, considering. It was unlikely he’d remember this meeting, between his age and the concussion. It was safe enough to let him go. 

But it was also unlikely he would remember the way to the hunting lodge. And it was unlikely that he would survive for very long alone in the forest. The temperature had stayed above freezing the night before, but that did not mean it would stay that way. Leaving him now would be crueler than simply shooting him. It would likely be blamed on a hunter, his neon safety vest of course had been discarded when Ian realized they were being pursued. 

“Can you walk?”

Alex’s steps towards him were slow and halting, the movement clearly painful, but Alex didn’t say so. Yassen wondered how much he could figure out, how well Ian had taught this child, barely older than a toddler. Could he recognize the shape of a gun beneath his jacket? What about the knife handle poking out of his boot? 

Alex tripped, catching himself with both hands and crying out briefly. Yassen sighed and picked him up, settling him against himself and keeping him still with one hand. He could reach the gun with the other if he needed it, this wouldn’t be an imposition. Alex was lighter than Yassen had been expecting, but he regularly moved fully grown corpses around, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. 

“You’re not Ian,” Alex repeated, mumbling his words into Yassen’s jacket. His injured hand curled lightly into the fabric, the other grasping at the back of his collar. 

“No,” Yassen agreed, moving in the direction of the lodge. He wouldn’t be able to take them back the way they’d come, Alex wouldn’t be able to hold onto him without help, but there were places where the climb was not so steep that he would need to let go of Alex to navigate it. 

Alex’s breaths were light, and Yassen didn’t know whether that was a sign of trouble or simply the result of not having very large lungs in the first place. 

“Ian said I should wait for him if we get separated.”

He sounded uncertain. He didn’t want to crawl back to the foxhole, but he was not in a habit of disobedience. 

Yassen did not intend to give him a choice. “You did wait. And I found you.”

Alex was quiet for a moment, the silence broken by unseen birds and the shuffle of mud and detritus under Yassen’s feet. “You’re not Ian.” 

Despite the simplicity of the statement, it was laced with confusion. Yassen bit back a sigh. Surely Ian Rider did not expect obedience to the letter from his nephew, especially if it meant death? “Ian isn’t coming. I’m going to bring you back to the lodge. You can wait for him there.”

He stayed quiet after that, and Yassen was grateful for the opportunity to focus more carefully on his footing. The ground was slick and unstable, and getting them out of the ravine was difficult work. 

The lodge was not very far, they’d been ambushed on one of the main hunting trails. Getting back to that would likely be enough to allow Alex to be found, but the fact that he’d sent men into the forest specifically to look for Ian and they had somehow completely missed the boy made Yassen hesitate to just leave him, no matter how well traveled the path. 

So when the brush thinned to show the trail clearly, Yassen continued on. Alex raised his head off his shoulder and looked around, apparently in recognition, but he kept quiet.

Yassen slowed as he passed by an encampment. There were signs of recent activity, but no one was currently tending to it. He tightened his grip on Alex and continued on. There was no way of knowing when they would be back, or whether they would be capable of looking after a child. He’d met the owner of the lodge, and had seen her disappointment at the disappearance of two of her boarders. She was the safest person he could leave Alex with. 

It shouldn’t have mattered so much. The boy wasn’t even relevant to his current job. He just happened to be here, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and with the wrong person. 

It wasn’t Alex’s fault that his uncle was an MI6 agent. It wasn’t his fault that Ian had chosen to hide the evidence of the client’s plan with him. And it wasn’t his fault that John had chosen to play both sides. This wasn’t John. 

This wasn’t John, but Yassen didn’t want to leave him anyways. Other than Ian there was no one to look after him. Yassen knew how quickly being alone could get him in trouble. And Ian was currently being held at Yassen’s mercy. He was one mistake away from making Alex an orphan again, and if he or Ian didn’t quit soon, he might be forced to.

No. That wasn’t exactly true. Helen had told him about Alex’s godfather, another of John’s colleagues. Ash. Yassen considered the life of the boy under Ash’s care. The man was irresponsible, far more so than Ian Rider. And Ash’s hatred of him was personal. Ian’s was business. Putting Alex in Ash’s care would mean losing any chance of seeing Hunter’s son again. 

It was a selfish decision, but Yassen felt he was owed it. After slipping away from the lodge, with Alex securely in the care of normal people, he called his men and instructed that they release Ian Rider. The chip had been recovered, it did not matter that he was allowed to go free. 

Yassen hoped it would not matter the next time their paths crossed, though he knew that hoping was a very pointless endeavor in their field.


End file.
